


Tough Love

by Severina



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, Gen, M/M, future John/Matt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 16:31:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1864695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Very convincing, Farrell. Now here's some more McClane wisdom, because once again the chick in the room has the bigger set of balls."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tough Love

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's smallfandomfest for the prompt, "they can't stay the same now." Also inspired by a prompt from the fabulous Persnickett, "Matt pussies out and moves back to Camden."
> 
> * * *

"So. This is it."

Lucy grimaces when Matt pushes open the lobby door, tries to keep an open mind. Her best friend Susan's cousin lives in a converted warehouse and that place looks like a crack house from the outside, after all, but the renovated apartments inside have high ceilings and hardwood floors and basically make her own dorm room look like a hovel. 

Then Matt keys open his lock and escorts her into his new apartment, and nope… it still looks like a crack house. 

"Well," Matt says, "what do you think?"

"You're kidding, right?" she asks.

"What? No," Matt says. He spreads his arms to indicate the single room, nods his head. "Okay, fine, it's got some quirks—"

"Is that _mold_ hanging from the ceiling?"

"—and it might need a little TLC—"

"That's a bullet hole in your window," Lucy says dryly. 

"—but you try finding something for less than five hundred a month! The Feds confiscated my entire bank account, dude—"

"I know I'm more butch than you, Farrell, but I don't actually have a penis. Don't call me dude."

"—not just the 50K from Gabriel, you know what I'm saying? They took all of it! My life savings! Which, okay, minus the firesale money only amounted to another two grand, but at least I could have upgraded a little, you know? So. Yeah. This is it. For better or for worse."

Lucy shakes her head, starts to lean on the kitchen counter and thinks better of it when something small and brown furtively skitters away from her outstretched hand. She folds her arms across her stomach instead, turns in a slow circle. Her quick perusal takes in peeling wallpaper circa 1972, at least two places where the sheetrock has been peeled away to the bare boards, and a soggy crack in the ceiling directly above her. She has a brief yet vivid image of Matt's upstairs neighbour's sofa crashing through the ceiling onto her head, probably spewing bed bugs and crack pipes, and moves quickly to the side. 

"This," she says, "is definitely _worse_."

Matt bites at his lower lip. "It's not that bad."

"Compared to what? Prison?"

"Look," Matt says, "I brought you here for moral support—"

"You don't know me very well, do you?" Lucy says wryly. "Listen up, all right? Because I'm about to drop some Lucy McClane wisdom on you and you should pay strict attention."

"Oh, it's McClane now," Matt snaps.

"Yeah, Farrell, it's McClane now. Because once you have a gun pointed at your head, you realize that all the petty bullshit you've been holding on to doesn't mean shit anymore. I'm not gonna stay mad at my dad because he didn't come to my pathetic little school recital when I was eight, or because he wasn't there to escort me to the Father/Daughter Prom, okay? Looking death in the eye changes people, and not just because you can't sleep without nightmares and have to spend an hour every week telling some shrink about your feelings."

"You're in therapy?"

Lucy raises a brow. "I saw your name on Dr. Chung's patient roster too, Farrell."

Matt blinks, straightens from where he's slumped against the wall. "Hey, that's supposed to be private."

"She may have stepped outside for a consult and I may have flipped through her calendar when she was out of the office," Lucy says with a shrug. She can see about a thousand words going through Matt's head and if the _hacker_ starts lecturing her about invasion of privacy she just might lose it, so she holds up a hand and continues quickly. "My point is, we can't stay the same. This changed us. We have to let go of some things. We have to move on."

"I _am_ moving on," Matt says. He pushes off from the wall, stalks through the tiny apartment. She knows him well enough to be ready to duck back from the flailing arms. "I am totally, one hundred percent legit now. I got a contract with a huge company, going through their existing code line by line for vulnerabilities. It's a huge deal, okay? And I've got a new place—" 

"Where you're going to sit in the dark in a disgusting hovel listening to the vermin in the walls and watching numbers flash across a screen, never moving or seeing another human being unless it's the pizza delivery boy."

"There isn't… it's my job to… I buy food!" Matt splutters. "And I already told you, the feds—"

"Took all your money, blah blah blah, so now you're stuck in this cesspool." Lucy sighs. "Except that you had a perfectly good place already, Farrell."

Matt stops in his tracks, all the animation dropping away in an instant. Suddenly he's intently studying the scuffed linoleum, and she's pretty sure he's not entranced by the rat droppings. "Yeah," Matt mutters. "That didn't exactly work out."

"Why?" Lucy asks. "Because you're in love with my dad?"

"What? No!" Matt blinks rapidly, his throat convulsing. If she hadn't seen this display before, she might be concerned he was going to stroke out or something. As it is, the whole thing is just amusing. "I don't… I can't even… What?"

Lucy rolls her eyes. "Very convincing, Farrell. Now here's some more McClane wisdom, because once again the chick in the room has the bigger set of balls. What you need to do is call up my dad and tell him that you made a very big mistake and that you want to move back in. Then," she continues, "you find the right moment, preferably before I've given him grandkids, and you tell him how you feel."

"I don't—"

"You do."

"But I—"

"You can."

She actually sees the moment where he gives in, when his shoulders slump and he lets out a weary breath. When he raises his eyes and gives her the sad puppy-dog look she can almost see what her dad sees in him. Almost. 

"Look," Lucy says. "You've been gone, what, a week?"

"Ten days."

She nods. "And in that time my dad has called me thirty-seven times. _Thirty-seven times_ , Farrell. The first call yesterday was to ask how my Women's Lit class went, the second was to remind me to get my oil checked, and the third was to ask, and I quote, 'what time that show with the singing kids comes on.' This is not just me being altruistic here, Farrell. He's driving me crazy. And he misses you, believe me."

"We're friends, Lucy," Matt says. He sighs, leans against the counter. She opens her mouth to warn him about the roach, then decides she'll just make him burn those clothes before he gets back into her car. "We had a nice routine. He called on the way home, I stopped working in time to get dinner on, he did the dishes, we sat around and watched the tube—"

"I've seen the way my dad looks at you, Farrell. He's not missing your pasta primavera or your ass in the seat next to him during Glee," Lucy says. She cocks her head. "Well, he _is_ missing your ass. He likes you, dummy."

"I don't think—"

"And I'm not going to let you revert back to living like a hermit and only talking in leet-speak with your chubby friend," Lucy says firmly. She reaches forward to pluck Matt's cell phone out of his pocket, scans through to find her dad's number. To her complete lack of surprise, it's number one on Matt's speed-dial. She flicks her thumb over the entry before handing the phone back. "Call him."

Matt takes the phone, but he gives her those puppy dog eyes again. "Lucy—"

"My dad can't stay the same either, Farrell. He deserves better." She nods toward the phone. "He deserves you."

Matt turns even paler than usual – which is really saying something for Caspar there – and his fingers nearly crush the phone, but she glares at him until finally he hits the number. He turns away, the cell pressed tightly to his ear, and Lucy lets him pretend he has a modicum of privacy. 

"Hey, John… pretty good, you know how it… yeah… ha ha, right, good one McClane, can't put anything past you… yeah, pretty good, I'm just settling in at my new place, so… OW! SHIT!"

Lucy only smiles sweetly when Matt turns to her with a scowl, rubbing at his bicep with his free hand. She's got a mean right hook and she's not afraid to use it.

She can vaguely hear her dad squawking through the receiver when Matt turns back to the phone. "Sorry John, just hit my elbow. Listen, the reason I'm calling is… well, I miss you. And moving out was a stupid fucking idea. And I was hoping that I could come home."

Lucy doesn't bother to listen to the rest of the conversation. She's already mentally planning a shopping trip with Matt, because no way are the surely bug-infested clothes from this flea-trap going anywhere near her father's house. She'll even help him hang his new clothes in the closet in the guest room, though she's pretty sure they'll be migrating to her dad's bedroom within the month. 

And despite the nightmares and the anxiety, she almost wishes Thomas Gabriel was still alive so she could send him a thank you card. The thought makes her smile wickedly as Matt ends the call and they high-tail it out of the apartment, Matt already protesting at her plans for their shopping excursion. She has no doubts that she'll convince him of the benefits of some new clothes. 

After all, change is good.


End file.
